Tandem

He’d shrugged. “Social event. She’s not going to want the hired help standing over her the whole night.” He felt guilty abandoning Sasha, fully aware that he was doing it only to get away from her and everything she made him feel, but it wasn’t as if she would be unprotected. There was an army of KES agents patrolling the North Terrace, where the cocktail hour was being held, and when the concert began she would be sitting in the front row, easily within range of his stage assignment.

He’d spent all late afternoon watching as Gloria’s team set up the chairs and prepared the terrace for the pre-concert event. He’d also gotten a front row seat as a pair of sweaty movers in jeans and T-shirts unloaded the van the Columbia City Orchestra had sent over containing all the instruments and music stands for the night’s performance. Bedford had been with him. At some point they were standing near the van as one of the movers struggled to unload a tuba case with a violin case already in hand.

“Can I get a little help here?” the mover asked.

Bedford had shot Thomas a look of disbelief. “He can’t seriously be talking to us, right?” He turned back to the guy. “We’re KES, man. We’ve got our own jobs to do.”

“Come on!” the guy grunted. “There’s only two of us and we’re running late.”

“Not our problem,” Bedford scoffed.

“I’ll help you,” Thomas offered, picking up the tuba case. “Where do you want it?”

“Mayhew, what the hell are you doing?” Bedford demanded.

“Just trying to be useful,” he said, grateful for the opportunity to do something active. Physical activity helped keep his roaming mind in check. With his help, the movers got everything unloaded in under an hour.

But now that the event was about to start, Thomas’s entire being was supposed to be focused on watching out for possible Libertas activity. Thomas glanced around the backdrop and saw that Sasha and Callum were making their way to the front row, which meant everyone else would start filing in soon. He thought he saw Sasha notice him, but he pulled his head back in so quickly he couldn’t be sure.

You’re a damn coward, Thomas told himself.

Soon, everyone was seated; Sasha and Callum were in the front row with the queen and a handful of distinguished politicians. The General had been invited, of course, but he didn’t do events like this. He was much more of a behind-the-scenes man. For this Thomas was glad. The last thing he needed was the General’s scrutiny.

The orchestra took the stage in silence. Night had fallen, and the only light came from the stage and the aurora whirling high above.

“I’m going to go do a sweep,” Bedford announced. “You coming, Mayhew?”

Thomas shook his head. “Gotta keep an eye on S—parrow.” He’d almost said her name. How was he supposed to do his job when he couldn’t even get the simplest things right?

Bedford nodded and disappeared into the darkness of the wings as the orchestra struck up their first piece, a dark, fast-paced number that burrowed into his heart like a drill. The strings cried out, driven wild by the cadence of war drums. Thomas recognized the piece; it was called “Revolution,” composed in the early eighteen hundreds to commemorate the formation of the Commonwealth.

When “Revolution” was over, the conductor waited for the applause to die down before leading the orchestra into their next piece, a dreamy sonata. Thomas began to relax. Everything was going well; the audience seemed to be enjoying the performance, the orchestra was playing perfectly, and everyone was safe.

There was a crackling noise on his earpiece. “Hey Mayhew?” It was Bedford, of course.

“Yeah?” Thomas spoke clearly, knowing that the rowan pin would transmit his voice despite the background noise from the orchestra.

“Where’d they put all the instrument cases?”

“What do you mean?”

“The noise makers are all on stage, but where’d they put their houses?” Bedford said. He was trying to sound jovial, but his voice carried a dark undercurrent.

“Back in the van,” Thomas told him. “It’s parked behind the stage. Why?”

“We’ve got to stop the concert,” Bedford said, serious now. “I’m under the stage and there’s a violin case down here.”

“Just one?”

“Just one.”

Thomas knew what Bedford was thinking—a bomb. It was exactly the conclusion he would jump to if he’d found it. But he had to ask: “Are you sure?”

“No, I’m not sure! Would you like me to give it a little shake?” Bedford cried.

“I’ll find Greenberg.” Agent Greenberg was the agent in charge, and if the event was going to be evacuated it would have to be on his orders.

Thomas tracked Greenberg to the stage’s back stairs, where he was standing guard. “Bedford thinks he found a bomb.”

“Where?” Greenberg demanded.

“Under the stage. He thinks we should evacuate the area.”

“How does he know it’s a bomb?”

“He doesn’t, but he found a violin case down there, and all the other instrument cases are in the van out back,” Thomas told him.

Greenberg nodded. He put his hand to his earpiece. “Bedford, are you on the mike?”

“Yeah, boss,” Bedford said.

“Circle the perimeter and tell me if you see a timer.”

There was a pause. “I think there’s one … Oh, sh—”

“Bedford!” Greenberg cried.

“We’ve got ninety seconds,” Bedford told him flatly. Thomas’s whole body felt heavy, like his clothes were lined with lead. There wasn’t time to pull in the bomb squad. They’d have to make a run for it.

“Bedford, get the hell out of there now.” Greenberg turned to Thomas. “I’ll handle the evacuation. You find the princess and keep her safe, you got it? Do nothing else.”

Thomas didn’t hesitate; he just took off running. Sasha, he thought as he reached the edge of the stage. The crowd looked up at him, wide-eyed, as a soaring symphony crashed behind him like waves. He counted in his head: Eighty-five seconds, eighty-four seconds, eighty-three seconds … He had to find Sasha. He had to find her now.

Thomas leapt off the stage, landing only three feet in front of her. She stood, surprised and alarmed to see him there. He reached her in the space of a moment—eighty seconds—and grabbed hold of her arm, pulling her in close.

“There’s a bomb,” he whispered in her ear. She froze, but he wasn’t going to let her just stand there. No matter what had happened before, it was his job to keep her safe, and he was going to do that if it killed him.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Callum shouted, but when his eyes met Thomas he saw the seriousness in them and backed off. If there was anything the prince understood, it was the importance of letting security do their job. “What’s happening?”

The orchestra was so wrapped up in their performance that they didn’t notice the action that was taking place right at their feet.

“Let’s go,” Thomas said to Sasha. It wasn’t his job to protect Callum, or the queen; they had their own security details, agents who were coming for them now, streaming off the stage behind him and down the center aisle. Sasha nodded and held tight to his arm as they wound their way through the rising chaos. People crowded around them, voices raised, emotions running high, but Sasha shut her eyes and let Thomas lead her through. They had just reached the end of the lawn when Thomas heard Bedford’s voice in his ear—“Thomas?” He looked back instinctively, like Lot’s wife sneaking one last glance at Sodom and Gomorrah, and Sasha followed his lead.

One second.

The aurora in the sky was obliterated by a blinding plume of light.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, looking up from her book. The matron who had been